Flank Street

by A. J. Sendall

  She gazed at me warily, and her face gradually softened. She looked to be in her mid-twenties, not quite ugly, but could never be described as pretty or even good-looking; plain, I suppose you’d call her.

  She took two shot glasses from a shelf, one in each hand, pushed them against two optics, and then handed me one.

  ‘Friends?’

  I had no problem responding to that invite. We tossed the shots back. ‘How long have you worked here?’

  ‘About two years. I only took it on for a month, but then sort of stayed.’

  ‘You can’t hate it that much then.’

  ‘It’s okay. Lenny’s not bad compared with many of the people around here. Bloody tight-arse though.’

  ‘Was that his missus he was with?’

  She laughed, and when she did, her face brightened and lost some of its starkness. ‘She’s anyone’s missus.’

  I wasn’t about to start a gossip mill or talk about Lenny behind his back, so left it at that. For all I knew, Meagan could have been tight with him.

  ‘Customers,’ I said, nodding to the far end of the bar. She pulled her shoulders back, turned, and went to work.

  We chatted a little that night when the crowd had thinned after midnight. She seemed to be honest in that simple kind of way. I wouldn’t use the term innocent, but there was a naivety about her that was incongruous with working in a bar in a red-light district, albeit a relatively safe one like Kings Cross.

  I was enjoying myself. The bar was easy to work; there was a great selection of music to choose from, and the custom had been good. No troublemakers or derelict pissheads as I’d expected there. Meagan had been good too. She was a great barmaid, no doubt. She worked the bar with a fluid efficiency that made me feel slow and clumsy.

  By quarter-to-two, the place was empty. I told Meagan she should go, and then started to cash up the tills. When I looked round, she was sitting on the public side of the bar, watching me.

  ‘Something I can get you, lady?’

  ‘Same again, Sam.’

  I poured two shots and laid them on the bar in front of her as she lit a cigarette.

  ‘You want one?’ she asked, offering the open pack. I slid one out and leaned forward to light it on the flame of the silver Tommy lighter she held in her slim, pale fingers.

  ‘Classy lighter.’

  She snapped it closed, laid it on the pack of Camels, held one of the shot glasses head-high in salute, and waited for me to follow.

  I touched my glass against hers ‘The first shift,’ I said. Her only response was to slam the vodka down, and then bang the empty glass on the bar. I followed and poured two more.

  We smoked and talked a while. Just superficial getting-to-know-you stuff. At five past two she slid off the stool and locked the front door, then collected her bag and jacket and left with a cheery, ‘See ya tonight.’

  ‘Don’t be late,’ I called after her, but she was already out on the street. I sat looking around my new domain, in no real hurry to leave.

  Frankie’s Bar

  After working for Lenny for a month, he upped my pay to fifteen an hour. He was seldom at the bar after the first week. I guess he was happy with how I was handling things, could see that I was in control, and left me to it. I had no idea what else he did; we didn’t discuss personal things. He never asked me anything about my private life and kept strictly to business. He would usually be with one of two women. Pinklips would often be trailing him, tired grey eyes peering at the world from her prematurely lined face. Haggard is how I would describe her, as if she’d spent much of her adult life smoking, drinking and hanging around in bars waiting for variants of Lenny. She never spoke to Meagan or me, and was never there during the early shift when Stella was working. The other woman was quite attractive, almost refined-looking, with alabaster skin and well-groomed, shoulder-length hair cut in a bob. She wore elegant clothes, as opposed to Pinklips’ cheap polyester dresses and worn-out sandals. I never heard Lenny address Pinklips by name, but the other woman he called Heather. She was quiet, and other than a polite hello, we never spoke. I wondered if Heather was his wife, but when I asked Meagan, she just laughed and shook her head as if I’d said something stupid again.

  I’d taken to staying in one of the rooms above the bar during the week. In the past, they’d been rented out as short-term accommodation, but now lay unused. When I asked Lenny if it was okay, if he wanted rent, he muttered something like ‘’course you fucking can’, and walked away. I was getting used to his ways and felt that beneath his phony facade, he wasn’t so different to any other Joe.

  Stella, as Lenny had said, was always on time, worked well, and needed no supervision. I would often leave her to run the bar herself when it wasn’t busy, giving me time to do ordering and stocking.

  Mandy, the cleaner, was a powerhouse. She was in her forties, always arrived early, and often caught me still having breakfast. She went through the place like a whirlwind, with mops, brooms, and cleaners. She always did the mahogany bar last, and left it streak-free and laid with fresh beer-mats. Lenny had picked and retained good staff.

  Meagan and I were getting on well. The smokes and drinks after hours were now a mandatory part of the night shift. She was opening up about her life, which was being made unnecessarily difficult by an angry ex who figured he could still control her. When she told me how he had been bashing on her door at four in the morning, I asked, ‘You want me to kill him?’

  She considered it long enough for me to realise she thought I was serious, then blew out a steady stream of smoke and said, ‘Would you do that for me, Micky?’

  Caught a little off-guard, I parried. ‘Just for the hell that’s in it.’

  I saw her deflate, and then thought, why not? She seemed afraid of him, and she wasn’t the timid sort. Men who bully or hurt women had always been my pet hate, so why not get rid of him?

  The thought played around my mind as we sat at the bar. It was after three and she seemed reluctant to go.

  ‘Do you want to stay here and then go home in the morning?’

  She looked down at the glass in her fingers as she spun the vodka round. ‘No strings?’

  ‘There’s another spare room. You’ll just need to make the bed up: plenty of linen up there, but no strings.’

  She slammed the vodka back. ‘And you won’t tell Lenny?’

  ‘Shit, no. Anyway, this is my bar now. Fuck Lenny. Fuck him in the ear.’

  ‘Thanks, Micky,’ she said, raising her eyes to meet mine.

  ‘No worries, mate. Come on, I’ll show you where the linen cupboard is.’

  She followed me up the stairs. When we reached the hallway, she said in a whisper, ‘I’ve never been up here before.’

  ‘Never? What? In all the time you’ve been here?’

  ‘No. Why would I?’ Still whispering.

  I opened the door to the spare room, switched on the light, and then stood back to let her walk in. ‘There’s bedding in that cupboard down the hall. Shower’s opposite. Toilet’s at the far end.’

  She immediately walked across the room and looked out the windows as if she expected to find somebody looking back up at her. The brass curtain rings squealed as she pulled the heavy drapes closed.

  ‘Anything you need?

  ‘Only if you’ve got a toothbrush and spare panties?’

  ‘Nope.’

  She wore a coy look as she said, ‘Thanks again, Micky.’

  ‘Any time.’ I closed the door and went to my own room.

  It was strange but somehow comforting, hearing her move around on the other side of the connecting door.

  I lay thinking about if I could kill in cold blood.

  Hooking Fish

  Three months had passed since I first walked into Frankie’s. I was spending less and less time on my boat, and when I was there, I was restless for the city, for The Cross.

  I’d managed to stash away a fair amount of cash, as well as living tolerably well. Meagan had bec
ome a good friend, and occasionally we would sack together. Stella had noticed Meagan hanging around in the mornings, but other than an enquiring look, she hadn’t asked. It was nothing to do with her anyway.

  Even though I was doing okay working this way, it was not what I had in mind for the future. It was easy, fun even, some nights, but it was only a means to an end. Lenny was happy. The bottom line was slowly rising, and he only had to spend a few hours each week taking cash to the bank and making up the wages. I noticed he also paid two suppliers with cash as well, probably for stolen liquor.

  I’d come to know a few of the regulars after the first month or so. Amongst them were a few villainous types. The flash clothes and fat rolls of cash gave them away.

  There was one man named Ray who always came in between nine and ten on a Friday night. I noticed a few of the other criminal types treated him deferentially, and so figured he must have been a heavyweight. He was a tough-looking guy: barrel chest, jutting jaw, and a look of imminent hostility. I don’t remember him ever buying a drink. He would often be with a thickset Islander who seemed to be some kind of Man Friday.

  One Saturday night there were a half-dozen of them: Ray, the Islander, three others—all tough looking—including another Islander. There was also this tall guy wearing a sharp suit and an air of authority.

  ‘Who’s the big guy with Ray?’ I asked Meagan as we stood behind the bar waiting for the next onslaught.

  ‘You have to learn to mind your own bloody business.’

  ‘So he’s a scary dude. Ray seems to be number two tonight. I bet he doesn’t like that.’

  ‘Leave it alone, Micky.’ She turned and started stacking glasses on a shelf, clearly uncomfortable. I wondered if this had anything to do with her ex, but decided to let it slide.

  Half an hour later, Lenny and Pinklips arrived. She sat at their usual table; he went over and greeted the tall man. Lenny was meek and overly pleased to see them. It came over as a royal arse-lick. The tall guy said a few words to him, then returned to his conversation. Lenny hovered a while, then got the message and left them. They stayed for a couple of hours, then drifted away in ones and twos. Ray and the tall guy were first to leave. Lenny tried to catch their attention as they left, but they either didn’t see him or chose to ignore him.

  The bar emptied out early for a Saturday. By midnight there were just a few diehards, two at the bar trying to hit up on Meagan, and three older guys sitting at a table. She looked uncomfortable and kept her distance when she could. I signalled her to swap with me. She was hesitant, so I signalled again with more force. We swapped places, and I started restocking a cold-shelf close to them.

  One of them stood on the rail, leaned over the bar, and said, ‘Why don’t you fuck off back to the other end and let that big-titted bitch serve us.’

  I smiled at him, grabbed his hair, and slammed his head into the top of the bar. The other one went to make a move, but stopped when he saw Meagan with a baseball bat in her hands, ready to swing. The three old timers had paused and were watching events unfold. I still had hold of his hair and gave his face another dance on the bar. He slumped back, dazed, barely conscious.

  His mate glanced at Meagan, then looked back at me and pointed a finger. ‘You’re a fucking dead man. And you, bitch,’ he said, turning to look at Meagan, ‘have got it coming.’

  ‘Get out and fucking stay out. I see you come through that door again, I’ll set her on you,’ I said, nodding at Meagan who still held the bat in a two-handed, white-knuckle grip at shoulder height. They made it to the door, hurling insults and threats.

  ‘Shit, Meagan, you’re a scary woman,’ I said, twisting the bat free from her grip. ‘Do you know them?’

  ‘Fuck.’

  ‘I’ll take that as a yes. Who are they?’

  With trembling fingers, she reached out and slid a Camel from the pack, fumbled trying to ignite the Tommy lighter, and then finally took a deep draw. She still didn’t say anything, but I knew her well enough to know it was personal.

  ‘Was that the ex?’

  She was still looking down. She’d her left arm wrapped round her middle, her right elbow resting on it as she punished the cigarette. After a few seconds, she nodded.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me earlier?’

  ‘Why didn’t you just leave it?’

  ‘I’m not a leave it kind of guy. Why did you immediately back me up with the bat? It’s okay, you don’t have to answer that; it was rhetorical. You did it because that’s what we do— back each other. You know any bar or club in this area has the potential to get violent. If it happens—’

  ‘Okay, all right. I get it.’

  ‘Go and chill out upstairs. I’ll finish down here.’ Before she could answer, one of the old guys approached the bar carrying three empty glasses. They were the last customers and I hoped they were leaving. He laid the glasses on the bar and waited to be served.

  ‘Same again?’

  ‘And three Drambuies.’

  As I made up his order, I heard the door swing and then the sound of Meagan climbing the wooden stairs. The old guy was watching me. I laid the Drambuies on the bar and started pouring beers.

  ‘You want to be careful with that prick,’ he said casually. ‘He’s in with Kurt Reed.’

  ‘Who’s Kurt Reed?’

  ‘You know who Loretto Reed is?’ he asked with an amused sniff.

  ‘Nope.’

  He looked at me with a mix of surprise and pity, as if he’d discovered a new breed of idiot. He picked up the three shot glasses, carried them to his table, and then returned for the beers.

  ‘Loretto Reed is a mindless thug. Kurt Reed is even worse. They run a couple of low-end clubs—not here in The Cross, this is Johno’s turf—but out west where it’s full of bloody immigrants.’

  ‘Thanks, and these are on the house.’ I laid the third beer on the bar. He looked at me for several seconds, evaluating me, deciding if he should say more. Eventually he did.

  ‘You’re new around here, so let me give you some advice. Johno Brookes runs most things worth running in these parts. He doesn’t like trouble. He likes people to feel safe in The Cross so that they come and spend their cash in his clubs and bars. Those wankers that you tuned up work for the Reed brothers, and if Kurt Reed hears about what went on here tonight, he’ll be pissed off and want to come back and tear the place apart. If I were you, I’d get your version of events to him before they do. That way he’ll be pissed with them instead of you. He won’t want to start trouble with Johno Brookes, but—’

  ‘You know how I can get in touch with him?’

  He laughed derisively and then said, ‘Have a talk with Lenny.’

  He returned to his table and a few seconds later there was an outburst of laughter, no doubt at my expense. I was grateful to the old man for trying to warn me, and the information would be useful.

  The three old men left at one-fifteen. I locked the door, flicked off the room lights, emptied the tills, and headed upstairs. Meagan was waiting in the lounge. I decided to wait until she had time to calm down before asking questions about her ex and the Reeds. Morning would be soon enough.

  ‘I should have told you,’ she said when I sat opposite her.

  ‘Told me what?’

  ‘That he works for the Reeds. I heard the old guy tell you about them.’

  ‘Eavesdropping?’

  ‘I came down to see if everything was okay, and saw you talking to him. He’s right; you need to tell Lenny tonight. If Kurt Reed hears that you worked over one of his guys, he’ll come looking for you. He’s a violent bastard. So is his brother, Loretto.’

  ‘I might have to get you on that bat again.’

  ‘Don’t joke. This could go badly. Call Lenny.’

  ‘What’s his name, your ex?’

  She hesitated, but knew there was no choice. ‘They call him Fish.’

  ‘Fish?’

  ‘That’s what they call him. He’d never tell me why.’


  ‘How did you get mixed up with a misogynist halfwit called Fish?’

  ‘It’s a long story.’

  ‘It always is, but I’ve got all night.’

  ‘Call Lenny,’ she said, folding her arms and crossing her legs.

  ‘And then you’ll tell me?’

  ‘Struth, don’t you ever give up?’ Her fear was evaporating; a half-smile bowed her mouth.

  I went down to the bar, dialled Lenny’s number, and waited. His phone only rang twice before pickup.

  ‘Hello,’ came a sleepy female voice.

  ‘I need to speak with Lenny. Tell him it’s Micky DeWitt.’

  There were more voices in the background, then Lenny’s on the line.

  ‘What?’

  ‘There was a rowdy customer tonight. He works for Kurt Reed.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘And I had to hit his head on the bar a couple of times.’

  ‘Oh, fuckin’ hell, Micky. Why’d you do that?’

  ‘’Cos he needed it. He goes by the name of Fish. He’s Meagan’s ex.’

  ‘He’s a cunt, but you shouldn’t have hit him. Anyone else with him?’

  ‘Just one other guy about the same age. There were three regulars in the bar; you know the three old guys who always come in together. One of them gave me the heads-up that this Fish worked for Reed.’

  ‘Did you get his name?’

  ‘No, he’s just one of those old guys—’

  ‘Not him, Micky: the fucker with Fish.’

  ‘Chips? I don’t know, Lenny. We didn’t exactly buddy up afterwards and I don’t want to drill Meagan about it.’

  ‘Oh? I heard you were drilling her twice a week now.’

  ‘So can you sort it?’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do.’

  The line went dead. I hung up, grabbed a bottle of vodka, two shot glasses, and went back upstairs.

  ‘Lenny’s cool: says he’s going to sort it.’

  ‘Is that all he said?’

  ‘Tell me about these two sets of crims: the Reeds and Johno Brookes.’

  ‘Do we have to do this, Micky?’

  ‘We seriously pissed off Fish and his mate—’